in poverty and obscurity; its author is by your side, he is in Home; he is Antonio Scacciati, the surgeon!"
The painters of San-Luca looked at Salvator with astonishment. The great artist diverted himself awhile with the critical position in which he had placed them; then he added: "Until now, my masters, you have rejected Antonio from your college, on account of his humble profession; for myself, I think that a surgeon would be very much in place in the noble Academy of San-Luca to adjust the distorted figures which come from time to time from the hands of some of our painters."
The gentlemen of San-Luca quietly swallowed the pill; they pretended to render justice to the genius of Antonio Scacciati, and proceeded to his reception with the accustomed ceremonial.
This news was hardly known, when congratulations were received on every hand; offers of service, and orders for great works beseiged Antonio's studio. A word from Salvator had raised him from obscurity. Glory and fortune smiled upon him,—what could be wanting to complete his happiness? Great then, was the surprise of Salvator on seeing him enter his house one day, mournful and sad with suffering.
"Master," said Antonio to him, "of what use is the rank to which you have elevated me? to what purpose are these honors, this reputation which comes to me, since my unhappiness does not quit my bedside? Do you know, master, that the picture of the Magdalen, which made my glory, also causes my despair?"
"Silence!" answered Salvator; "do not insult art by insulting your own work. And as to this unheard of misfortune which you deplore, I do not believe in it. You are in love, and your desires anticipate time; that is all. Lovers are like children. Leave off these complaints, unworthy of a man of courage. Sit down and relate your story, show me the obstacles which oppose themselves to what you believe to be the height of happiness. The more difficult these
